To Ascertain
by Lass Cherrie
Summary: The subject: One Aizawa Minto. The objective: To throw the subject 7 years into the future, strip her of her wealth, and see how and if she survives. The result: One rich girl with a lot to learn about life, love, and doing it tough.
1. Un

**April 2, 2012.**

**A/N:** Greetings, reader, and welcome to a very personal novel. :3

A little bit of necessary history: A long time ago, way back in ye olde 2009, I wrote this for my NaNo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge. I wrote it for a friend who was going through a really rough time, in the hopes that it might lift her spirits a bit. Sadly, a complication shortly after fractured our friendship, and it's never been the same since. Nowadays, we barely have contact. So this story holds a lot of personal meaning for me; it's very special, very significant, and very nostalgic.

I should have posted this a long time ago, but I was always afraid nobody would read it. I guess it just doesn't matter anymore; I think for all the love and time that was poured into this story, it deserves its own little place on the internet. My writing has improved a lot since I wrote this, but I'm going to leave it un-edited, for the most part, to preserve its authenticity. :)

**Info:** Minto-centric splice-of-life (but does include other Mews at various intervals), post-Mew Project, set 7 years in the future. Contains OCs. Rated T for mature themes, occasional language (I think; can't really remember!), and implied sexual themes later on.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Tokyo Mew Mew. I do, however, own every OC that appears in this fic - and they're all very dear to me.

* * *

**To Ascertain | Chapter One**

For Immortal-x-Snow

Because life was hard, she was a dancer, and I loved her.

* * *

"Miss Aizawa?"

Minto glanced up wordlessly, obediently extracting herself from the depths of her Contemporary Japanese Economics essay. She absent-mindedly folded the top corner of the heavy volume she was poring over with nimble, delicate fingers.

"Yes?"

The girl standing at her desk wasn't someone she recognised. This meant she was probably a freshman. Minto glanced up and down her small frame; she was definitely someone from wealth, like ninety-eight percent of students at the lavish university, but she wasn't of any significance. It came as no surprise that the girl had known who Aizawa Minto was without having met her; the young heiress found that it happened increasingly more often the older she grew. It seemed that everybody simply _knew _of her. Sometimes, she indulged herself in the fantasy that she was a celebrity.

"Lady Miyabita would like to see you."

"Now?" Minto asked, her voice low and smooth, so as not to interrupt any of the other students studying in the prestigious library. The place was a huge octagon, with an enormous domed roof of sparkling glass panels, clear as crystal. Natural light filtered down to the circular oak desks, around which students worked, silent as the night. The antique lamps sitting atop the polished wood wouldn't be used until dusk fell, and then the place would be filled with warm, velvety golden light, subtle and cosy.

"Yes."

Minto nodded dismissively and quietly packed away her things. She removed the neat, rectangular frames from her delicate, pointed nose, carefully folding them away in their case. She silently pushed out her chair and rose dexterously, allowing the younger girl to take a moment to fully appreciate her subtle beauty and aristocratic aura.

Twenty-one year old Minto was quite a sight to behold. Over the few years since her life had been restored to peaceful normality, she had grown the remaining few inches, and her body was slender, lithe and neat. Her arms and legs were slight and pale as snow; the result of a meticulously maintained diet consisting of only the strictly healthiest delicacies, of the absolute finest quality. A lifetime of dedicated ballet rehearsals shaped her slender form, smoothing her contours and hardening her muscles.

Two large, almond-shaped chocolate-brown eyes emanated charisma and dignity from beneath thick, curled black lashes, stark against her ashen, snowy skin. Her lips, small and elusive, curled subtly – the slightest smirk of arrogance. Her rich, blue-black hair tumbled down her back when left as nature intended; today it was carefully braided and twisted into a feminine spiral at the back of her head, held in place with pins studded with tiny pearls.

Minto allowed herself to be led from the library by the freshman, who quite obviously felt inadequate as they traversed the length of the third floor corridor towards the mahogany staircase; she seemed at an utter loss for words. Minto didn't feel obliged to lighten the atmosphere between them; she silently pressed a non-existent crease from her navy silk frock with her fingers. The dress was sleeveless, and had a wide, curving neckline. It pulled in sharply at the waist, with a pure-white ribbon – tied in an utterly _perfect_ bow – at the back. The skirt fell loosely, falling short about an inch of the knee, with subtle sunray pleats and a simple chiffon petticoat beneath. She wore a skin-tight white lace top with wrist-length sleeves and white stockings underneath, with a pair of stylish patent leather Mary Jane heels and pure white silkworm gloves. The entire outfit, like all of her outfits, was designer-made especially for her. There were no exact copies of it _anywhere_ in the world. Aizawa Minto, with her Egyptian silk dress, her Italian leather heels, and the Schwarovski diamonds in her ears, was a walking fortune.

"Did she say what this was about?" Minto broke the chilling silence as the pair ascended the grand staircase towards the fifth floor. They did not exchange greetings with any of the other students they passed; the boys and girls of the Okuyukashii Institute of Academic Excellence were far too refined for pleasantries. Attending one of Japan's wealthiest private universities, each of the mere one thousand students was heir to some kind of prosperous fortune. Competition was extremely fierce between them; behind the polite, well-rehearsed pleasantries were thoughts of resentment and judgement. Here, it was all about whose father had the most power.

Miss Aizawa Minto was one of the few names even the newest of freshmen knew almost better than their own.

"No."

Minto nodded again, once, and fired a quick, subtle look at the girl, dismissing her as she raised one white-gloved hand to rap against the oak door. After a few moments, a distinguished voice answered.

"Enter."

Minto turned the golden handle and pushed the door open. Behind an enormous mahogany desk, in a crisp, gunmetal-grey tailor-made suit, was a birdlike woman with jet black hair swept up in a French knot. She flicked her cool eyes up at her student from behind neat, oval frames, and put down the golden-nibbed fountain pen in her bony fingers.

"Miss Aizawa," she greeted graciously, with a tight smile. "At last. Please, take a seat."

Behind the desk, the huge French windows portrayed the view across the traditionally-designed Japanese gardens, and the sweeping scenery of the vast, classic cityscape of Kyoto. A man-made creek snaked between the lawns of cream stone, sparkling in its bed of marble.

Minto sank gently into a high-backed oak chair, maintaining her flawless posture, resting her arm delicately on the rich brown arm.

"How can I help you?" she asked politely, already heavily suspecting of the words to issue from the headmaster's lips. This was by no means her first trip to the Dean's office; usually it happened around semester break, when her parents were meant to be returning from wherever in the world they were to spend it with her. The emphasis was, of course, on the words 'meant to be'. With Minto's years of experience, she was well accustomed to preparing for it not to happen.

"I've received news regarding your parents," Lady Miyabita, the sixth generation of the Miyabita women to inherit and maintain the university and its estate, announced. Minto's expression remained impassive. She sat like a statue, awaiting the newest excuse for their upcoming absence.

"If you're going to tell me they won't be home for Christmas, I'm well aware already," she said lightly, rising from the seat. "You need not waste your time with these messages, Madam. I thank you, however, for your time in doing so."

"Please be seated, Miss Aizawa. I'm afraid it's not about the coming winter celebrations," Miyabita said calmly, though her eyes were hard. She glanced away from Minto's bemused face, and rose from her extravagant chair, as Minto reluctantly made herself comfortable again in hers.

"It is with my deepest and sincerest apologies," Miyabita said, gazing thoughtfully out the windows, "That I regretfully inform you that your parents will not be coming home again."

"What on earth do you mean?" Minto demanded, growing quickly tired of the airy-fairy formalities. She might have been raised with them spilling out of her mouth before she could even properly count, but that didn't mean she minded tolerating them twenty-four-seven.

"There was an accident, Miss Aizawa," Miyabita explained, her back still turned to her student. "Their plane crashed into the south pacific ocean on their return from Brazil. The government is arranging for them to be returned to Japan as soon as is legally possible."

"Legally…" Minto trailed off, speechless. The news of her parents' untimely demise did not come as upsetting, considering she couldn't even remember a celebration of birthdays or Christmases that they'd actually attended, but it did come as quite a shock.

"Unfortunately, Miss Aizawa," Miyabita continued, staring at the maintenance men as they raked the beds of stone into the patterns she desired for the day, "Your parents had been keeping quite a secret from us. It seems the Aizawa clan fell into quite a spot of financial hardship in recent years."

"That is not true," Minto all but spat in immediate protest. Struggling to maintain her poise, she closed her eyes, inhaled carefully through her nose, and released the breath in a long, calming sigh. "We have never experienced financial difficulty. Never."

"It is with regret that I must argue," Miyabita replied, sounding not the least bit remorseful, and now she turned. Her eyes were cold as steel; harder than diamonds. "Your father perished almost two billion yen in debt."

Minto's heart turned to ice in her chest. What little colour there was in her cheeks rapidly drained.

"It is with my deepest apologies that I must inform you that your education at Okuyukashii will be terminated from this moment forth," Miyabita said, watching her pitilessly. "Since you can longer afford to attend an institute of our status, we must ask that you remove yourself before the weekend–"

"But the semester is almost over," Minto exploded in horror. "I'm due to graduate in a few months! Can't I stay until I graduate? This university has always been paid the correct fees; can't you make an exception for the short time I have left?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Aizawa," Miyabita said. She seemed to be enjoying the moment far too thoroughly for the young _ex-_heiress' liking. "But rules are rules. If we made an exception for you, we'd have to make an exception for all the young girls with financial difficulty, and then we just wouldn't be _us_, would we? Okuyukashii does not make exceptions."

Minto glared furiously at the headmistress, unable to believe that this ill fortune was really happening to her.

"Does Seiji know?" she demanded.

"Your brother will be informed shortly," Miyabita replied. "Our contacts are trying to reach him in Moscow. He is proving to be quite elusive."

"So what will happen to us?" Minto asked, the first creases of worry encroaching the boundaries of her well-maintained countenance. Miyabita gazed at her wordlessly.

"That, my dear," she said softly – almost vindictively, "Is for _you _to work out now."

Minto sat rigidly in her seat, her body frozen.

"Fortunately for you," Miyabita went on, "Your parents already had everything organised for you before they died. According to their written requests you will be taking up whatever remains of your college education at Kihonteki University in Tokyo. Accommodation has been organised and the university is aware and supportive of your immediate transfer. A room will be prepared for you when you arrive."

"Wait–" Minto stammered, the first onset of panic setting in, but Miyabita steamrolled over her.

"A limousine will be waiting for you on Sunday morning to take you to the station. Your itinerary is already in your quarters as we speak; you will find your train ticket and a printed document with all the relevant details ready for your convenience. Please ensure your quarters are vacated by nine o'clock sharp."

Minto's head swirled with all the sudden information. She finally gathered her scattered thoughts enough to raise her head and look at the headmaster.

"You are dismissed," Miyabita said simply.

Minto dragged in a strengthening breath and rose as calmly as possible. She unleashed the iciest glare in her power upon the uncompassionate woman before her, and, retaining whatever dignity she had left after being utterly humiliated and degraded in the worst manner possible, swept from the office.

* * *

The phone rang endlessly in her ear. She stood by the window-seat, gazing out absently over the vast city of Kyoto. The skyline sure was pretty in the morning, but she'd always preferred it with a sunset backdrop.

The phone rang out for the third time in a row. Minto sighed in frustration and hung up, dropping her latest-technology cell phone on the four-poster double bed. The drapes were pulled back and tied with the golden rope-cord, the tassels dangling towards the floor. The plush gold and maroon covers were pulled up neatly, the bed re-made for the last time.

Several jumbo-sized suitcases sat unzipped on the bed, packed neatly to the brim with an assortment of designer clothing. The oak wardrobe in the corner was, for the first time in almost three years, completely empty. Minto had never been one for elaborate decoration, but even with the few small touches she'd added now gone, the place felt unfamiliar and sad.

"Where shall I put this, Miss?"

Minto turned to the meek little maid who worked for the university and eyed the velvet black travel coat in her arms. She held out one slender hand.

"Give it to me. I'll wear it on the train."

She pulled her arms through the sleeves and buttoned it up to her collar, hiding her blue-plaid-pencil-skirt, cream-satin-blouse ensemble from sight, glancing at the solid gold, diamond encrusted watch around her wrist. Ten to nine. She would have to get moving soon.

"And this, Miss?"

"Whatever it is, just put it in the case," Minto snapped, reaching for her cell phone to try Seiji one more time. He was becoming so unreliable.

_Well, not that he's ever really been around much…_

She listened to the maid zipping up her cases as she waited for the phone to connect. Again, he didn't answer. Giving up for good, she dropped her cell into her bag and busied herself with arranging a powder blue cashmere scarf around her neck. She pulled on her white travelling gloves, picked up and shouldered her bag, and turned her gaze to the window, taking care to examine it, and the view it offered, closely, so she could preserve the image in her memory.

As it turned out, Mr and Mrs Aizawa hadn't left her in complete ruin. The family financial advisor had paid her a visit the previous day to discuss how to approach her sudden situation, and where to take her options. As a result of the terrible debt her father had somehow landed them in, the Aizawa orphans had so little money remaining that most of their staff had been 'let go', including him, he had added, with the explanation that he couldn't bear to leave two kids entirely on their own at a time of such terrible loss.

Minto didn't really understand where he was coming from with that, but she was glad he was still around to sort out whatever money issues they had to deal with.

An account had been set up, Ishida explained, one each for her and Seiji, with enough money inside for education fees and rent (Minto hadn't, until this conversation, ever used or heard of the word) for a while, but definitely not enough for any sort of permanence. She couldn't live forever on what was in the account, was how he basically put it. Minto found this news distasteful, but she supposed there wasn't exactly anything she could do about it. Besides, she would just sort everything out later, when the time came.

The Aizawa estate, with its glorious gardens and manor, was still under the siblings' possession, despite most of the furniture being repossessed. A 'hollow, empty shadow of its former self', was how Ishida described it.

"I wouldn't go back there just yet," he had advised, pushing up his very square glasses and peering at her seriously. "I wouldn't go back for a while, actually."

Where Minto was supposed to live, she had absolutely no idea. Staying in those on-campus dormitories was utterly out of the question; she would have no more considered that a legitimate option than fly to the moon. No, living on campus was not a level she was willing to sink to. She had no contactable relatives; her father had been estranged from his siblings, and as for grandparents, she couldn't remember ever meeting any, so it wasn't as though she had any place else to go. But again, it was something that would have to be dealt with at a later date.

"Miss? We're ready…"

Minto turned away from the window. The maid was standing by the open door, looking nervous. The cases had been removed from the four-poster bed; most likely packed already into the trunk of the limousine.

"Very well," Minto sighed. She cast one final glance at the window, tightened the scarf around her neck, stood up straight, and tilted her chin up, preparing for the walk that would most likely be the most shameful of her entire life.

It was not often an heir or heiress suddenly came to the horrible realisation that their lavish lifestyle was lavish no more. But it did happen. Every now and then, rumour would sweep around the campus that Koretada Hime's father had gambled their fortune away and he was pulling her out of the institute. Or Toroko Makio's family had turned out to be connected to some form of corruption, and suddenly his inheritance was being spent on legal fees and bail money.

But no one in the history of the university would have ever expected bankruptcy to happen to an Aizawa.

There were no whispers behind her back. There were no dirty looks; no glares, sneers, scowls or haughty pouts. Nobody turned their backs on her. Nobody laughed at her. Nobody even dared speak.

But the disbelief, the incredulous tension, the sudden division between their classes – for now Aizawa Minto (_the _Aizawa Minto; the last of her lineage) was one of _them_, a commoner – was almost unbearable. Nevertheless, Minto held her head high and strode with all the dignity she'd ever been taught to hold, all the way down the enormous staircase and across the marble-tiled entrance hall, past dozens of shocked students and out the double-doors to the front gardens.

Without a backward glance, and without looking at anybody _once_, Minto slid straight into the awaiting limousine.

With almost a thousand pairs of awed eyes fixed upon it from various rooms, windows, and classes, the limousine snaked its way down the poplar-lined stone driveway, and out the twisted iron gates, disappearing into the depths of the city lying beyond.

* * *

**To be continued... **

* * *

**A/N**: 2 Billion Japanese Yen equals about 23,900,500 Australian Dollars. Which is quite a lot. :P

Thanks for reading! Leave a review?


	2. Deux

**April 17.**

**A/N: **I hope you had a great Easter, reader. Sorry this chapter has taken longer than expected to post up; I've been bogged down with uni assignments lately. Updates should be pretty regular, if all goes accordingly.

* * *

**To Ascertain | Chapter Two**

* * *

Minto jerked awake. The brakes of the train hissed and squealed as it slowed. She stretched and yawned delicately, brushing her fringe with her fingers as the train pulled into the station. It had been a long four-hour journey. Thankfully, she'd slept through most of it. As the train finally halted, she pulled her jacket on, shouldering her bag.

Announcements blared over the PA system, echoing around the big station. People flowed along the platform, heading in all directions. The doors of the train banged open as passengers joined the throng. Above her head, Minto's five large suitcases lay in the luggage rack. She reached up hesitantly and tugged the handle of the nearest; it didn't budge.

She pursed her lips. Where was the porter? She glanced around, searching for one. In the handful of times she'd caught the train, there had always been a uniformed man waiting at the platform to handle her luggage. It seemed there wasn't one today. Minto glanced up at the suitcases again, and blinked as she wondered what she should do.

"Hey… Do you want some help with that?"

She turned from where she was balanced precariously on one of the seats, trying to drag one of the cases off the rack. Three guys were crowded around her compartment, watching her struggle. She blushed a little and hopped down quickly.

"Finally," she sighed petulantly. "I was starting to worry I'd be stuck trying to get them down myself."

"Here," one of the guys – the first who had spoken – offered, stepping forward and grabbing one of the cases. "Let me get it."

He was tall, she noted, like her brother, with scruffy brown hair that stuck up all over the place, and brown eyes. Plain, she decided; nothing particularly special about him. He would blend in with a crowd, with his simple jeans and black-brown leather jacket.

"Kyō," he said. "Come get this one."

His friend, slightly taller than himself, with closely-cropped black hair and sharp dark eyes, strolled forward and hoisted the largest case easily. He was lean in build, with long arms and legs. His muscles, however, where hard and distinctive.

The third boy was the shortest, with shaggy hair, reddish brown in colour, tumbling across his face, and small frames. He said nothing; just took another case and yanked it down the corridor.

"You got enough cases?" the first boy joked, one in each hand.

"The rest is back home," Minto replied lightly, watching him carry the handles. He wasn't wearing gloves. She could imagine the grimy smudges his fingers would be leaving, and her hand twitched instinctively. She dug into her designer bag for the little bottle of clear antibacterial gel she carried everywhere, and pocketed it.

"Where are you headed?" the brunette asked conversationally, as she followed them down the steps onto the concrete platform. Minto glanced at him; she rarely made conversation with commoners. She had nothing to say to them. They were of an entirely different class; how could they possibly understand anything she talked about? Things that were a day-to-day element of her life were rare to the ordinary person. Besides, what business of his was it, anyway?

"That is none of your concern," she replied snootily, tilting her chin up a little when he glanced at her incredulously. His eyebrows kicked up; he shrugged and kept walking.

"Are you moving house?" he asked instead. "Visiting a relative?"

"Please keep your mindless questions to yourself," Minto said coolly, smoothing a crease from one of her little white gloves. She nodded to the cases in his hands. "You can leave those by the cab rank."

"As you wish, milady," the boy joked, smiling broadly. She paid him no mind; her thoughts had already strayed ahead to the coming afternoon.

"Hey!" he called to the other two, who had strayed ahead. "Just dump them at the cab rank. Hail her a cab, too, if you can."

Minto glanced around the busy station with distaste. It was such a dirty place. Gosh, the _germs _that would be festering everywhere… She shuddered repulsively and turned her gaze ahead.

"You know, you're going to have to tell us where you're going," the boy said from beside her. "If you want us to let the cab driver know."

"I will sort that out when the time comes," she replied, still looking ahead.

The two other boys were loading the trunk of a taxi with all her cases when they exited the station. The brunette dumped the last two in the back and dusted his hands off; Minto's eyes flicked from the handle of one case to the next as she imagined the germs accumulated on them all. They would have to be cleaned the moment she arrived.

"There you go, your highness," the first boy said, mock-bowing. His tall companion scowled and punched his arm.

"We're out," he said in a low, quiet voice, without looking at her.

"I'm coming," the brunette replied. He turned back to Minto and grinned. "Have a safe journey, princess, wherever you're going. See you 'round some time."

He winked jovially and jogged off after his friends. Minto stared coolly after them, then turned and slid into the back of the taxi. She was not impressed that her new university hadn't sent someone to come and collect her from the station, but she supposed she was just going to have to make do with what she had for now. She could always submit a formal complaint later, anyway.

"Where to?" the cab driver asked. She wrinkled her nose; he smelled strongly of cheap aftershave and cigarettes, and was in bad need of a shave.

"Kihonteki University," she replied haughtily. "Quickly, if you please."

Then she sat back against the vinyl seat, scowling to herself at the level she had sunk to, and folded her slender arms across her chest, gazing moodily out the window at the surrounding city of Tokyo.

It had been a long time since she'd returned to the city. She had, of course, spent Christmas holidays at the Aizawa manor, but she hadn't ventured into her home city when she'd been there. She'd felt no desire to; she'd always had everything she ever wanted or needed at home.

She'd transferred ballet academies from her Tokyo studio to one of greater acclaim in Kyoto, and her studies had moved there, too. The only real reason she had to still visit the modern capital city would be her Mew duties, but all that had finished years ago – she barely even thought about that anymore. It felt strange being suddenly back again.

Kihonteki University turned out to be a collection of red brick buildings that fronted the road; the gates led straight out onto the street. Minto blinked at it as she climbed from the taxi; she'd been expecting something at least a _little _more refined. Students loitered everywhere, moving in small packs, laughing and joking amongst themselves, and shooting her curious looks as they passed by. The cab driver reluctantly hauled her cases onto the pavement, then took her fare and left.

Minto glanced at her cases, took out her antibacterial gel and a tissue, and carefully cleaned all the handles. People watched her in amazement, but she paid them no mind; once she was done she re-pocketed the bottle. Coming to the conclusion that an institute as average as Kihonteki probably wouldn't have a concierge, Minto struggled to juggle all five handles as she tugged her cases through the gates.

Physical labour was not one of her strongest attributes. It took her ten minutes to make it to the reception desk on the bottom floor. The brick buildings were all joined, and created a huge, reverse horse-shoe shape. Sole acorn trees, cordoned off by wire fences, dotted the cement lawn.

"Hi there," the female receptionist greeted. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for the concierge," Minto replied, wondering if they maybe had one inside. "Alternatively, a butler or even a maid would do. I need my things taken to my room."

"Uh… well, we don't have a concierge here," the receptionist said, biting back a laugh. "This is a university. You might be looking for the hotel across the street."

"No, this is the right place," Minto said, looking at her disdainfully. "I'm a transfer student from Okuyukashii Academy in Kyoto."

"Oh." The receptionist looked surprised. She began typing at her computer. "Let me just bring up… Now, what was your name again?"

"Aizawa," Minto said, drawing herself up to her full height and all but glaring at the lady. "Aizawa Minto." It was one of the first times in her life that she'd given her name to someone who didn't already know it. A strange feeling settled in her stomach. She hadn't really met anyone to whom her surname didn't hold importance. She didn't like not being recognised.

"Oh yes," the lady said happily. "Here we are. Miss Aizawa. You're right on time; your room is ready and waiting for you. I'll just get your key."

She stood up and disappeared, returning a few moments later with a small silver key with a plastic green tag. The numbers 5-14 were written on it in thick black texta, under the scrawled characters for 'Honda'. The receptionist handed it over.

"Be careful not to lose your key," she warned jovially. "There are only two copies of it; your roommate has the other one. We can always have another made if you lose yours, but you'll have to pay the fee for it."

Minto had stopped listening at 'roommate'. Her mouth had dropped open in horror.

"Roommate?" she demanded. The receptionist, who had continued speaking, fell silent and nodded.

"There are two students to a dormitory in our residential halls," she explained. "We believe it fosters unity and friendship, and encourages diversity. You're with a fellow third-year student."

Minto was too stunned for words.

"Your room is in the Honda Halls, right out those doors there and first on your left. This number here – the five – means the fifth floor. The fourteen is the room number. You can't miss it; it's a very simple system. Your room will be on the right hand side of the hallway. House rules are straightforward; there's a student handbook pamphlet on the back of your door, as well as some emergency contact numbers and a fire plan. Take one of these–" She slapped a campus map down on the desk, "–and come back here tomorrow morning at ten for your meeting with the advisor. She'll help yourchoose your subjects."

Minto gaped wordlessly, stunned.

The receptionist smiled brightly. "Welcome to Kihonteki University."

* * *

"Hi, you've contacted Aizawa Seiji. Leave a message."

Minto sighed angrily as the phone beeped for his answering machine.

"This is ridiculous, Seiji," she growled into her cell. "I've been trying to talk to you for days. Mother and father just _died _and you're not even around?" She fought to keep her voice from portraying how betrayed she felt. Really, this was borderline on unacceptable. "Anyway, that's not why I'm calling. I'm at my new university now, and I need you to get me back to Okuyukashii as soon as possible. I can't stay in this disgusting place. It's utterly ludicrous. Call me as soon as you get this."

She hung up and dropped her cell in her bag. Then she rearranged her hold on her cases.

The residential halls were built behind the main building. They were separate from the horse-shoe, and from each other, but absolutely identical in architectural design and structure. About seven or eight stories high, rectangular, and red-brick, with a metal staircase on the exterior of one wall, lined with fire escapes. The gold characters for Honda were plastered above the single entry of the first. There were six in total, forming a rough semi-circle around the cement quadrangle. A tiny, man-made park had been built right in the middle.

Minto wrestled her luggage into the Honda Halls and managed to shove them into an elevator. It rumbled its way up to the fifth floor and jerked to a stop. The doors slid open to a narrow hall way, long, and carpeted in pilling brown. There were stains all over the place, but the white walls were clean enough. The place was old – there were tiny cracks around the industrial lights in the roof – and bare. It was in desperate need of a makeover.

Finding room fourteen was not difficult. Getting to it was.

Considering it was mid-December, the students were in wind-down mode, getting ready for the coming festive holidays. It was cold, so people preferred to spend their free time inside in the warm: reading, playing games, eating and socialising with friends.

And since it was a Sunday, _everybody _was chilling out in the residential dorms. There were students all over the place. Doors sat wide open, the occupants of the rooms shouting across the hallway to each other. People in pyjamas scurried up and down the corridor to invade their friends' rooms. Guys threw packets of crisps and chocolate from one dorm to another.

The door to number fourteen was closed, unlike the others. This, to Minto, was a good sign.

She inserted her key, ignoring the curious looks being thrown at her from all sides, and turned. The key didn't budge. She tried again, reddening when she realised people were starting to laugh at her.

"Y'gotta bump it with your hip."

The chirpy voice belonged to a girl who had just come up behind her. She was short, and painful to look at, due to the array of fluorescent clothing she was wearing: baggy lime-green pants that pulled in tight and tied under the knee, with a pair of striped rainbow stockings. Fluorescent orange and pink Doc Martins with sparkly sky-blue laces criss-crossed up her calves, and black and white striped sleeves poked from underneath a black sleeveless hoodie.

Her hair, long, jet black and dead straight, tumbled over her shoulders, some of it pulled up to make two high pigtails. Thick strands had been weaved into tight, tiny plaits, some gathered among the pigtails. Her slanted brown eyes were lined with kohl behind thick, black square-shaped frames.

Her mouth – surprisingly feminine and delicate – was painted too-red. She smiled, revealing slightly crooked, white teeth, and flicked down the enormous set of headphones she was wearing over her ears; they rested around her neck like they were a daily contribution to her outfit.

"Like this," she continued. Minto stepped aside obediently, and the smaller girl took the handle in her fingers. She turned the key once and gave the door a good, sharp shove. It bounced open with a _crack_.

"See?" The girl grinned. "Here, give me one of those."

She grabbed two of the cases and dragged them into the vacant room. Minto blinked at her, staring at the Rolling Stones emblem on the back of her hoodie, a little overwhelmed by her, and pulled the remaining cases inside.

"And… you are?" Minto asked, peering around the small room. A short corridor opened out into a square with mirroring sides. Two single beds, two simple wooden wardrobes, two desks, two little wooden bedside tables, four windows; one over the bed, one over the desk, with plain blue curtains that looked like they could used a good wash. There was a ceiling fan in the middle of the roof beside the round light, and a large metal panel-heater built against the wall between the beds.

"I'm Hanasuda," the other girl replied cheerfully. "You can call me Yoko."

She offered one hand to shake, but Minto ignored it pointedly. Yoko shrugged and dragged the cases over to the empty side of the room. The other side was decorated with band posters; they covered the wall. A wicker basket overflowed with clothing. The bedside table housed a lava lamp, a pile of manga, and an assortment of cosmetic products. Her desk was cluttered with textbooks, messy stacks of CDs, and old wrappers.

"Where d'you want your stuff?" Yoko asked.

"Just there will be fine," Minto replied, frowning at the handles. Her roommate was another who didn't wear gloves. The shorter girl's eyes flicked up and down her attire before she threw herself down on her unmade bed, rolling onto her back to stare up at the roof.

Minto took out her antibacterial gel and sat down neatly on the edge of her bed, removing her white gloves to clean the handles of her cases with a new tissue.

"What're y'doing?" Yoko asked curiously, watching her.

"Killing the bacterial cells left on the handles," she explained haughtily. "From the germs on your hands."

Yoko blinked in surprise and lifted her hands in front of her face, spreading her fingers to examine them. "They look pretty clean to me."

Minto didn't reply; she clicked the lid down on the bottle and put it away. They sat in silence for a moment, until Yoko broke it.

"Are y'going to empty your stuff now?"

Minto glanced at her cases. "Isn't anyone coming to do it?"

Yoko looked at her, her expression confused. "What d'y'mean?"

"Like a maid, or a personal attendant," Minto said, as though her companion was illiterate. "Somebody who does the insignificant tasks for you."

"I've never had one," Yoko replied cheerfully. "And there's probably not going to be one coming to help you."

"But who is going to empty my cases?" Minto asked, astonished. Yoko laughed.

"You're just going to have to do it y'self," she said. "Otherwise it won't ever get done, right?"

Minto gazed at her cases. Well, she might as well just get it over and done with. She was going to need new clothes eventually, and when that time came, she was going to wish her clothes were ready for selection. Besides, she'd seen the inside of her wardrobes plenty of times to know where everything belonged. How hard could it be?

"The last girl," Yoko chattered away while Minto carefully emptied the first case, "Flunked out. She failed too many classes. They asked her to leave. She was nice. I liked her."

Minto was only half-listening. In fact, she wasn't really paying much attention at all. She didn't care much for whatever stories the girl had to tell; she rarely associated with people like her, and didn't intend on starting any time soon.

Girls like her – common, messy girls – had an unappealing aspect to them. In Minto's eyes, getting to know her roommate would be a huge waste of time. She would be getting out of Kihonteki soon anyway, and Yoko wasn't exactly the kind of person she considered friend-worthy material.

Minto examined a velvet white dress, hanging it from her fingertips and reaching with her free hand for a spare coat hanger.

"The girl before her, though, _she _was a piece of work. Really tough, y'know? Wanted to fend for herself. Independent. Anyway, she got involved with the wrong people. Marshal caught her smoking up illicit stuff one day when I was in class. She was gone before I even got back."

Minto continued to ignore her. Yoko turned onto her side, watching the pristine heiress for a moment.

"So where're y'from?" she asked.

"That's none of your business."

"But you're a transfer student, right?" Yoko pressed, unperturbed and un-offended by the blue-haired girl's standoffish behaviour.

"That's correct."

"What was your old university like?" Yoko asked curiously.

"Far superior and beautiful to this dump," Minto replied scathingly, the smaller girl finally starting to get on her nerves. God – that ridiculously _hick_ accent! It was grating on her ears. "And, if all goes to plan, I'll be back there again before the week even begins, so don't get used to my presence."

"If y'say so," Yoko replied, taking the hint. She put her oversized headphones on again and settled back on her bed, reaching for a pot of black paint to decorate her nails.

The rest of the afternoon was passed in much the same manner; little conversation was shared between the two girls. Yoko buried herself in a trashy magazine while Minto tried and failed to fit the contents of her cases into the small wooden wardrobe. When at last she conceded defeat and stepped back from trying to hang just one more dress on the rail, the case she was working with was still half-full, and there were two that hadn't even been unzipped yet.

Minto sighed heavily and shoved the empty cases under her bed. The other three would have to stay out, she decided, so she could get the clothes from them when she wanted. She stood them up and lined them next to the wardrobe.

The linen for her bedding was sitting in a neat pile on her mattress; she stared at it for a moment, wondering what the heck she was meant to do with it, and what order the sheets were meant to go on, before picking up the fitted sheet nervously and letting it unfold.

"Want some help?" Yoko offered, speaking a little loudly over her music. She appeared beside Minto. "You're going to have to sleep in it tonight, at least."

Minto pursed her lips and sighed through her nose. Then she held out the sheet. Yoko made the bed while she sat at her desk and watched; she'd never seen anyone make a bed who wasn't a maid.

"Hey, some of us are going out for ramen later," Yoko said as she fluffed the duvet and tucked it in neatly. "D'y'wanna come with us?"

Ramen? Minto blanched at the thought. They weren't serious? Ramen… for _dinner_?

"Thank you, but no," she politely declined, unable to disguise the disdainful sneer in her voice. As it was, she was quite tired from the day. She really just wanted to sleep.

Yoko shrugged it off again, patting the freshly made bed in satisfaction. "There. All done."

When a knock sounded at the door, accompanied by laughing, shouting voices, Yoko jumped up from her bed and grabbed a tattered, frayed backpack from the floor. It was covered in badges and texta drawings; people had written all over it. Minto didn't bother glancing up from her Japanese Economics textbooks (Okuyukashii had let her keep them, and she figured she should keep up her studies for when she returned; she would hate it if she fell behind).

"Y'sure y'don't wanna come?" Yoko asked. When Minto didn't reply, she shrugged again. "Okay, well… have fun."

The door snapped shut behind her, and Minto immediately shut her book, changed into her pyjamas and shut off the light, curling up in the uncomfortable bed with its measly blankets, consoling herself with the promise that, before she knew it, she'd be out of this horrible new place, and back in the world of luxuries and wealth, where she belonged.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	3. Trois

**To Ascertain | Chapter Three**

* * *

"There's nothing I can do about it, Minto. I'm stuck in conferences in Moscow for a week, and on top of that, I've just had father's financial crisis dumped on me. I suddenly have to deal with that, too. I don't have time to fly back and try to convince that posh institute to take you back."

"That's not fair!" Minto cried. She was sitting under a tree in the little park in front of the residential halls. The enormous, digital clock above the rear entrance of the main building read eleven thirteen. "You were supported all the way through your education! Mother and father always made sure you were well-off. Now, just because you don't have the time, I have to forfeit my degree!"

"Not true," Seiji said. He sounded exhausted. "You got a transfer. You get to finish your course. You just won't be studying under a crystal roof at an oak desk."

"While _you_ will!" Minto exploded. "You still get all that stuff! I have to complete my final semester _here_. It's practically worse than having to start it again. I'll be stuck here for another six months, Seiji! I want my Okuyukashii degree; I worked for it!"

"Be grateful you _get _to finish your degree at all," he replied shortly. "You're lucky mother and father even had this backup plan set up for you, otherwise you'd really be in trouble." He sighed impatiently. "I don't have time to sit around arguing with you, Minto. I have to go."

"So what, I'm just _stuck here_ then?" she demanded furiously. "There's no way you would have put up with this! You'd have gotten out before you'd even gotten _in_!"

"Things are different now, Minto," Seiji sighed. "We can't afford to just go around doing whatever we please anymore. We _can't afford_ the best of the best. I know you're going to hate it there, but you're just going to have to stick it out. I'm sorry."

Minto seethed, clenching her cell phone in her tightly balled fist.

"This is _so_ unfair, and you know it," she hissed, before snapping the cell shut. Two other students sitting nearby glanced at her incredulously, having probably just eaves-dropped her entire conversation, but she was too outraged to care.

She was stuck. Stuck at Kihonteki. She couldn't imagine a worse place to have to spend six months.

The meeting with the advisor had not gone well. She was a pleasant woman, only too willing to help, but the information she'd offered had been extremely frustrating. Minto would complete this semester but would have to work extra to catch up, since she was entering so late in the semester. If she didn't excel (which she wasn't worried about in the least), she would have to completely retake her final semester.

Having little else to offer, the advisor had then helped her pick her subjects. Minto would be taking World History: Revolutions, a semester in Contemporary Economical Japan that she'd already excelled at back at Okuyukashii, Poetic Literature, and had one elective left, which the advisor had told her to leave for a while, until she discovered something that interested her.

Minto scowled at a nearby patch of flowers. How had her life become so awful so quickly?

Shooting a glare at the two students, who were now whispering and muttering quietly amongst themselves, she stood up from the bench with its peeling yellow paint and stormed back to the Honda Halls.

"Hey. There y'are," Yoko greeted cheerfully when she banged the door open. It had taken her several good thumps to get inside, and her hip-bone was already bruised. Her roommate was in the process of pulling a black fishnet top over her hot pink singlet. She was wearing it with a pleated denim mini skirt with an underlay of white, netty frill, a pair of over-the-knee black and white striped socks, and her fluorescent Doc Martins.

Minto didn't answer her; she got out the biggest Prada handbag she could find that would hold textbooks, and began filling it with things she would need for her midday lecture. Classes were starting immediately, which she actually didn't mind, considering it meant she could throw herself into her studies – even though they counted for nothing – and take her mind off her living situation.

"So you're staying?" Yoko asked, sounding far too happy about it.

"Unfortunately, my situation cannot be dealt with at the moment," Minto replied petulantly. "So I'm afraid I must be forced to continue my studies here for the time being."

"That's great!" Yoko said cheerfully, hanging her headphones around her neck. "So, y'don't have your books yet, right? Want me to come get them with you? I don't have class 'til twelve."

She crossed to Minto's desk and picked up her diamond-encrusted pencil tin.

"Wow, this is pretty," she commented, tilting it around in the sunlight streaming through window and watching it sparkle. "D'y'need this, too?"

She held it out when Minto's face became thunderous. The blue-black haired girl snatched the tin and pulled out her germ gel, proceeding to clean it obsessively.

"Okay, rule number one," she growled. "Since it seems I'm going to be here for a while, first thing's first. Do not touch my things. Ever. Not a single finger on _anything_. Am I clear?"

Yoko flinched a little, but recovered and smiled uncertainly. "Sure. Got it. No touchy."

Minto all but threw her pencil tin into her bag and shouldered it furiously, storming from the room without a backward glance, her campus map held tightly in her hand. To her dismay, Yoko followed her into the lift, smearing her lips red as it descended.

"Bookshop's on the first floor," she said conversationally, as though responding to something Minto most definitely had _not _said. "There are second-hand books, too, if y'want 'em cheaper."

"I don't buy things second-hand," Minto snapped snobbishly, her insides curdling at the thought. "I don't _need_ to."

"Well that's good," Yoko replied pleasantly. "'Cause it can be real hard to find specific books second-hand. They often don't have them. I've been lucky; they've always had mine in stock."

Minto did her best to ignore the girl, though she chattered _all the way_ to the bookstore. To her immense irritation, Yoko danced around the shop and found all her books before she could even work out what she really needed. She carried the pile up to the counter in her soft, coffee-brown arms, humming a tune to herself. Unlike Minto, Yoko's skin had seen the sun; she had a healthy tan despite it being the winter season.

Her newly purchased books in her bag, Minto reluctantly allowed herself to be led around by her insufferably chirpy roommate. She was more than relieved when she was dropped at her lecture hall on the third floor, finally freed from the incessant, slang-tinged chatter.

The lecture theatre was a large rectangle, with rows of desks ascending away, the floor inclining the further up the back of the room one climbed. The desks were made of cheap wood and folded down; up the front were a wide blackboard and a single lectern with a microphone.

Minto ignored the glances her classmates were shooting her; in her fur-lined winter coat and patent-leather, red heeled boots she looked extremely out of place among the jeans and sweatpants. She took her seat as far away from everybody else as she could, taking out her diamond tin and a fresh notebook. She had all the notes for this semester's worth of lectures, having already finished it, but she figured she might as well pay attention anyway. In the very least, it would make the time pass faster.

Needless to say, she learned absolutely nothing. The lecturer was nowhere _near _as thorough as her Okuyukashii lecturer. This concerned her in regards to her other classes. At least in Economics she already _knew _it all. How much would she be missing out on, learning at this inadequate university? She would fall so behind in comparison to her Okuyukashii classmates. How _humiliating._

Yoko was waiting for her outside the lecture theatre when class ended. Minto suppressed a scowl when she found her leaning against the wall, her music so loud she could almost make out the lyrics from where she was standing.

"Y'got class now?" she asked, removing her headphones. Minto didn't. "D'y'want me to show you the library? We can study together if y'want."

With nothing better to do, Minto reluctantly agreed.

The library was, like everything else, painfully average in comparison to Okuyukashii. It had only one level, but spanned quite a good portion of the fourth floor. It was bright, at least, with white walls, lots of simple glass windows, and a reasonably clean linoleum floor. Aisles of books stretched away to their left; rows of tables to seat eight ate up the floor on their right. A few rooms beyond contained computer facilities.

"Where d'y'want to sit?" Yoko asked. "Pick a spot, any spot."

The table was a bit sticky, and the seat Minto sat on rocked back a little every time she shifted her weight, but they sat in the library and studied for a good two hours, since neither of them had afternoon classes. Minto tuned out Yoko's music and lost herself in the history of the French Revolution.

"Ugh," Yoko groaned a while later. "I'm tired. Y'wanna go?"

Minto glanced at her across the table, before sighing through her nose and reluctantly marking her page. She packed away her books and they headed out of the library, packing into a tightly-stuffed elevator and descending to head back to the Honda Halls.

"Y'hungry?" Yoko called over her shoulder, bumping their door open and grooving her way into the room. She threw her tattered bag onto her bed, dancing on the spot to whatever she was listening to. Minto ignored her, neatly unpacking her things while she considered the offer.

The idea of food was appealing. The idea of food at this university was not.

She was hesitant to eat anything; she couldn't imagine the vendors or take away stalls here meeting basic health regulations. Minto pursed her lip, trapped deep within her conflicting thoughts.

Seeing that she'd caught the blue-haired girl's interest, Yoko eagerly continued. "I know a few good places on campus we can go."

"Are there any other options?" Minto asked doubtfully, pausing mid-way through pulling out her Economics textbook to glance dubiously at her roommate. Take-away food was not on her agenda.

"Sure!" Yoko grinned happily, and Minto couldn't help feeling worried. "Just down the hall. Follow me."

* * *

Minto stared, horrified. The "kitchen" was a large, dull-coloured room, with yellow-brown walls and off-white linoleum. There were four outdated stoves, two grimy ovens, and several locked refrigerators.

There were lots of benches – the doors individually labelled – but no bench space, as whatever room there was supposed to be was covered in plates, bowls, cutlery, cups, cooking utensils and rolls of plastic wrap and aluminium foil. Several simple tables were shoved against the walls, surrounded by an odd assortment of plastic and vinyl-covered seats. An extremely old-fashioned television sat on a rickety cabinet in the corner, its antennae sticking up at strange angles.

"We can always cook our own meals," Yoko said, by way of explanation. "It's communal; everyone on the fifth floor shares it. But no-one likes cleaning up, so the place is always messy."

Minto was too disgusted to even speak.

"That and, y'know, none of us can actually cook properly…" Yoko laughed nervously, watching Minto's chocolate eyes gazing dizzily from one pile of mess to the next. Alarmingly, it looked like the snooty girl was about to faint.

"So most people just eat out," Yoko said quickly, steering the pale girl back into the narrow hallway. "Food's real cheap on campus, and it's pretty good. There isn't really any need for us to cook anyhow."

Minto decided on the spot that she would never, ever enter the kitchen again, even if she was offered her entire fortune back – _doubled_.

She unwillingly let herself be led down to the bottom floor of the Honda Halls. An array of shops had been set up in the corner, forming a makeshift food court. Lots of students were milling about, waiting in lines, sitting at the small round tables, or chatting amongst themselves.

"This is a pretty good place for socialising," Yoko commented, examining the hot food display as they passed a take away shop. "There's always someone here."

Someone she would most definitely not want to converse with, Minto scowled in her mind. She glanced between the students at the tables. There seemed to be two kinds: horribly underdressed, or ridiculously over the top. It didn't look like there were any students like her at all. They all wore lazy, slack sweats or weird, disgusting costumes.

"What d'y'feel like?" Yoko asked, breaking her train of thought. Minto caught herself just before she said 'going home', and turned her gaze instead to the nearest stall, which sold cheap, unhealthy-looking Japanese dishes.

"I'm gonna get some onigiri," Yoko said, smiling widely as she dug into her pocket for her wallet. "Want some?"

Minto wrinkled her nose distastefully.

"I don't think so," she said disdainfully, wandering away to consider the other options.

In the end, Minto returned to the table with a plastic bowl of fruit salad. It was the safest, healthiest-looking dish she could find. It was also the most expensive, which was, to her, a good sign. She sat down at the table Yoko had snagged in the corner with a reluctant half-sigh.

She didn't particularly wish to be dining with the likes of someone like her roommate, but given the situation, she didn't really have much choice. Not only would it be exceedingly rude of her (something she was always taught _not _to be), but there really weren't any other tables anyway.

"S'that gonna be enough?" Yoko asked skeptically through a mouthful of rice and raw fish, her eyes on the little bowl of fruit.

"It will do," Minto replied lightly, picking up her set of chopsticks and examining them closely. She narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips, and reached into her bag for her germ gel. There was no way she was going to trust a little set of plastic, paper-packed chopsticks.

If she had things her way, she'd be eating with her favourite porcelain pair, but, as it was, they were back at the manor, and she didn't have access to the perfect china luxuries at Okuyukashii. With a sigh, she cleaned the chopsticks and wiped them down with her lacy handkerchief. Yoko watched her curiously.

"Why d'y'do that to everything?" she asked, swallowing an enormous mouthful of rice. Minto glanced at her dismissively.

"Do you have any idea how many germs the average human being ingests through daily consumption?"she replied. Yoko shook her head, wide eyed, stuffing another load into her mouth.

"If you knew," Minto continued delicately, not looking at her roommate, "You would think twice about the things you touch."

She picked up a piece of apple with her chopsticks, popping it in her mouth and chewing slowly, savouring the sweet-sour buzz. She wrinkled her nose almost immediately. This fruit was definitely lacking; its flavour was weak, and the freshness… Well, she didn't even know if it could be considered 'fresh'. Knowing this place, it was probably _days_ old.

"Doesn't it get tiring?" Yoko asked presently. Minto glanced at her once in acknowledgment of her question. "Cleaning everything y'touch," Yoko elaborated, cocking her head to one side. Her headphones bumped against her neck.

"Why should it?" Minto asked. "It's better than compromising your health."

"I'm still okay," Yoko pointed out cheerfully. Minto shot her a look that clearly portrayed her cynicism.

In her eyes, there wasn't an instance where Yoko could actually consider herself 'okay', 'normal', or 'sane'. She was one of the weirdest people she'd ever met, and was already questioning the girl's mental health; she wouldn't have been surprised if it turned out there was something seriously wrong with Hanasuda's brain.

"Hey…" Yoko began, putting down her chopsticks. "Since you're staying now, and all, why don'tcha consider coming out with the gang sometime?"

Minto tensed immediately, freezing where she sat, and said nothing.

"We go out once a week and do something fun," Yoko continued. "We try and break it up so we're always doing something new… It'd be cool if y'came along next time."

Minto continued eating quietly, refusing to look at her roommate. Surely Yoko hadn't expected an affirmative answer. There was no way in hell someone with as much esteem and class as herself would ever be seen _dead _with a bunch of kids like Yoko. It had less chance of happening than hell freezing over.

"Y'should think about it," Yoko said, refusing to give up completely.

They ate the rest of their meal in uncomfortable silence.

* * *

"Y'know," Yoko said, grunting as she bumped the jammed door open, "There are other places to study as well… not just up here and the library."

Minto followed her in, shutting the door and germ-gelling her hands before removing her winter coat. She hung it up carefully in the wardrobe. Then she took the gel and cleaned both sides of the room's doorhandle, ignoring the odd looks she attracted from passing students.

"There's a common room," Yoko continued, as Minto put the gel away and took out her books, setting them up neatly at her desk. "It's fun there; lots of people go and it's got a good atmosphere. Y'can study _and _relax; the room can be both work and leisure, depending on what y'want it to be."

Minto opened her books and picked up a pacer, pointedly silent.

"And there's a TV, and some pool tables, and food, and it's got _really _comfy couches–"

"If you would like to study there, then go," Minto snapped finally, not moving her gaze from her extensive anthology of nineteenth-century verse. She said nothing else, and Yoko got the hint.

"Alright, well, if y'_do _want to join us," she said hopefully, "The common room is just down the hall on the left. Y'really can't miss it. But just in case…"

She appeared beside Minto, her bag slung lazily over one shoulder, and reached for one of the blue-haired girl's notebooks. She tore a blank page out (Minto watched her, carefully maintaining her immaculate, calm composure whilst raging inside at the smaller girl making herself comfortable at her desk, with her belongings) and grabbed a pen from Minto's diamond tin. Minto's nostrils flared dangerously.

"Y'go down here," Yoko said, utterly oblivious to her roommate's inner turmoil. "And turn left _here_, and there it is. I'll just mark it with an X… There y'go."

She put the pen down on the desk. Minto glared at it.

"So… if y'wanna come, just follow this map," Yoko said with a smile. "Okay… Guess I'll leave y'to it, then."

As she watched, Minto delicately reached for the pen and took out her germ gel.

Yoko's face fell. She pushed her thick-framed glasses further up her nose, blinking madly. "Sorry… I didn't mean to… Um…"

Minto shifted her icy gaze to her roommate.

"Are you finished now?" she asked in a low, furious voice. Yoko nodded, blushing, and backed towards the door.

"I'll see y'later?" she asked nervously, stumbling over her own feet. Minto said nothing; she turned back to her books, shifting the waist paper basket out from under the desk with her foot, and deliberately slid Yoko's hand-drawn map into it without a word.

The door shut with a sharp snap.

x-x-x

To say that Hanasuda Yoko was nervous to return to her room later that night would have to be the understatement of the century.

She sat in the common room as long as time and her capacity to study allowed, forcing herself to continue poring over her notes despite her aversion to doing homework. When at last her brain started to ache and she conceded defeat, she hovered outside the door to 5-14 for a good five minutes, chewing her lip anxiously and wondering whether she should go in.

She wasn't sure why her new roommate hated her so much. She didn't know what she'd done to earn herself such hostility from the other girl. She certainly couldn't remember offending or upsetting her. The vibes of enmity pulsing from Aizawa Minto were stronger than a whiff of an old lady's smothering perfume. She wouldn't have minded so much if she could see the reason behind it. As it was, the anger she was currently on the receiving end of seemed to be completely unwarranted.

_Granted_, Yoko thought to herself, pacing back and forth outside the door, _I really should have paid more attention earlier_.

It was careless, mindlessly using her roommate's pen like that, especially when A) she didn't actually ask if she could first, and B) she'd been specifically told not to touch any of Aizawa's stuff. But she hadn't meant any harm by it…

Stuff this! Why should she be scared of entering her own room? She'd lived in it for three years. Well, almost three years. Even Chika-san hadn't intimidated her this much, and she'd been _expelled _for her behaviour!

Taking a deep breath, Yoko frowned in determination, squared her shoulders, and reached for the handle, remembering Minto cleaning it doggedly earlier on. Well, unless she made everyone wear gloves the whole time, she would have to clean it several times a day, at this rate. She pushed the thought from her mind, twisted the handle, and rammed the door with her shoulder. It bounced open, and she walked in, hoping she appeared calmer than she actually felt.

Minto hadn't moved; she was still sitting at her desk with her back to the door. Yoko let out a silent breath she didn't realise she'd been holding, and let her bag drop from her shoulder, catching the strap in her hand.

"Hey," she said tentatively, wondering if it would have been better if she'd just ignored her roommate, the way she seemed so determined to ignore _her. _

_Probably…_

She turned towards her half of the room, and froze.

A thick, hot pink line ran straight across the carpet, splitting the floor into two perfect halves. Yoko bent down, astonished, examining what appeared to be bright pink duct tape plastered to the carpet.

"I thought you might notice that," Minto said suddenly; Yoko jumped. Her roommate had turned in her chair, setting her cool brown gaze upon her. She wasn't smiling. "See where the line is? That half of the room is yours. This half of the room is mine. Do. Not. Cross. That. Line. Am I speaking plain enough for you to understand? Do you know what I'm trying to say?"

"I get it," Yoko replied, smiling cheerfully despite being insulted. She wasn't _retarded. _"Y'stay on your side, I'll stay on mine. That's fine."

"Good," Minto said coldly. "I'm glad you finally understand me. Don't come over this side."

"Okay, no problem," Yoko replied easily, throwing herself down on her bed. There was clearly no point trying with Aizawa, and she wasn't planning on wasting her energy any more. She'd done her best, and that was the end of that. "Whatever."

She dumped her bag on the floor and put her headphones over her ears, turning her iPod up as loud as it would go. Minto turned back to her book, turning the page lightly with delicate fingers.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

**To be continued...**


End file.
